A Special Little Group
by Cobalt Jan
Summary: Hello all, this little story took hold yesterday and wouldn't let go. No beta and my "Turn" muse was most angry with me. g It is my attempt at a Mother's Day story. I hope you enjoy. Jan


A Special Little Group

Murdoch woke with a start and was surprised by the light streaming in through his window. He lifted his watch from his bedside table and studied it for a moment. 8:43 He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept this late. Why hadn't anyone bothered to wake him? Not one sound was coming from the rest of the house. Had everyone left for church without him? That would be most unusual and would be cause for many questions from all in Spanish Wells.

With a grunt, he rose from the bed and stretched a long leisurely stretch. He decided not to alter his usual routine nor did he move any faster, making Sunday service was no longer on today's list. He washed and shaved, pulled on his clothes, taking the time to button every button and sat in his chair to lace up his shoes after taking the time to wipe away a scuff from the left toe. Always look the little gentleman, that's what his Aunt Ness would say, and he did, or suffer the consequences.

It had been years since he'd given her even a moment's thought, and he wondered why she should choose today to visit his memory. With a shrug, Murdoch preceded down the back stairs.

Someone was up. He could smell the coffee before he turned the corner, and heard the tap of a spoon on the rim of a cup. That was Teresa; she was the only one to put anything in her morning coffee. In fact, she poured more milk into her cup than coffee, just like her mother. Only she wouldn't know that having never met the woman. A fleeting twinge of guilt tugged at his heart for lying to the girl, telling her Angel was dead but that had not been his decision to make, only his to propagate.

"I see everyone is moving a little slow this morning," Murdoch said as he entered the kitchen. "And I see no one wanted to make breakfast either. What is that you're eating?"

"Last night's raisin cake," Scott said with a mouthful.

"Want some?" Teresa asked wielding the knife.

"I do believe I will," Murdoch said as he pulled a plate from the shelf. He set it on the table then moved to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"We're using our fingers, this morning." Teresa said. She plopped the piece onto the plate then licked the glaze from her finger. "I hope you don't mind."

"Mind? No I don't mind. To be truthful, it actually reminds me of more than a few breakfasts I've had in this kitchen." He stopped and looked at Scott. "But not for a very long time."

"Don't tell me… Mother? If Harlan only knew."

"We did laugh about what he would say and how red his face would get as he balked at such behavior." Murdoch picked up his piece of cake and took a big bite. It tasted good and he washed it down with a swig of coffee. "You may find this hard to believe but your mother was very good at imitating Harlan. She'd stand there," He tossed a finger in the general direction, "by the window. Chest out, back straight and she had a way of sticking out her lower lip just like he does." He did his best to imitate the gesture. "Katherine, she'd say, in as deep a voice as she could muster. Katherine, this is unsuitable behavior. Any daughter if mine will dine in an appropriate fashion and that does not include eating sans utensils."

"I wish I knew what it sounded like." Scott said as he played with a few crumbs on his plate.

"What, son?"

"Her laugh." He looked up. "I imagine it was a delight."

"And you would have imagined right." Murdoch said with a smile. "It filled the entire house, and she laughed often. It was one of the things I loved most about her."

The table fell silent. He'd never shared one of Katherine's memories with anyone since Paul's death, but for some reason on this day he found joy in the telling and by the look on Scott's face it had brought him some too.

"Thank you. It is just what I needed today. The mention, last week at church, that today's service was to be about remembering your mother… Well, I guess that's why I was in no hurry today. I had nothing to remember."

"Don't feel bad, Scott. I never knew my mother either." Teresa said covering his hand with hers. "I was just a baby when she died. I think that's why I wasn't in any hurry to get to church today either. Honoring mothers, it shouldn't be so hard, but it is."

"That must have been my excuse as well." Murdoch said. "My mother and father died when I was very young, a carriage accident. We were raised by my Aunt Ness and her husband Angus. There was never much time for mothering, not with her four and the seven of us."

"Aren't we a special little group? Not one memory between us," Scott offered.

Murdoch nodded and stared into his cup. A soft jingle brought his eyes up from the dark pool in time to see Johnny's red shirt leaving the doorway and turning the corner into the great room. He looked at the faces of Teresa and Scott. "Was he there long?"

"I have no idea, but why wouldn't he join us?"

"I think I may know." Murdoch pressed up from the table and followed the gentle sound. By the time he caught up with Johnny he was outside leaning over a paddock rail, watching a mare and her foal.

"Didn't want to break up the party," he said. "I had no business feeling sorry for myself this week."

Murdoch placed a hand on his son's shoulder and felt the muscles tense at the gesture. "Johnny…"

"I have so many good things to remember about her. I remember her laugh and the stories she'd tell and the way she'd dance with me. I remember the way she'd try to make what little we had special, and I remember the kiss I'd wait for every night before I could fall asleep. I have no right…"

"Johnny, you have every right. Having no memories doesn't give us special dispensation to grieve more. I'm not sure which is more painful, to lose what you know and love or to have never known the love at all. The pain cuts deep no matter how you look at it."

"There are times I still miss her, Murdoch."

"As do I son. As do I." An ache filled his heart at what all of them had lost.

"Johnny?" Teresa's voice caused both men to turn around. She and Scott were standing arm in arm behind them. "Johnny? Do you think you could tell us some of those stories about your mother? I mean if you wouldn't mind."

Murdoch watched as Johnny dipped his head to hide the smile that threatened. When he lifted it the smile was a full-fledged grin and he nodded. "I'd like that."

Teresa slipped between both men and wrapped her arms around their waists. "We have coffee that's getting cold and some more raisin cake to eat. What are we waiting for?"

"Now about those stories," Scott said. "Care to tell us one?"

Johnny laughed. "Murdoch remembers this one. Once upon a time there was a village nestled snugly in a ravine not too far from here."

The End


End file.
